Kingdom of Souls

by Rena Barron

  As I move through the patchwork of bright Aatiri tents, a cousin or an old friend of my father greets me at every turn. They ask about last night, but I want to be alone, so I leave camp, hoping for some peace. I weave through the white Mulani tents nearest the Temple of Heka. The Temple stands on the north edge of the valley, the golden dome shimmering against the white walls. A group of Mulani decorate it with flowers and bright fabrics and infuse the stone with magic. I walk by as a procession of women, each with a basket of water balanced on her head, march across the stone. The art is so detailed that you can see the water sloshing around in the baskets.

  I slip between the Zu tents covered in animal hide and pause to watch elders carving masks out of wood. It’s getting late by the time I roam into the maze of Litho tents, separated by sheets draped across wire. There isn’t much privacy in the valley, but the camp is quiet aside from the rustle of the cloth in the wind. Most of the tribe has gathered around the firepits to prepare for the second night of the blood moon.

  My wandering doesn’t bring me much peace, not like it does when I lose myself in the East Market back home. There’s always a merchant selling something interesting to keep my mind busy there. Or I can listen to the stories of people who come from neighboring countries. Meet people like the Estherian, who tosses salt over her shoulder to ward off spirits. Or the Yöome woman who makes shiny boots that patrons line up in the early morn to buy. But most of all, I wish I were lying on the grass along the Serpent River with Rudjek, away from everyone and everything.

  If the Aatiri camp was orderly, the Litho tents are a mess of confusion. I become so turned around that I end up in a clearing. By the smell of blood and sweat, I can tell that it’s a makeshift arena. Had Rudjek come to the tribal lands, he’d spend every waking moment here.

  I’m halfway across the clearing when two Litho boys around my age step into my path. When I try to move around them, they block me again, stopping me in my tracks. They’re up to no good. It’s written in their white ash-covered faces. Both stand a head taller than me and wear vests of animal hide dyed stark red. We stare at each other, but I don’t speak. I’m not the one sneaking around like a hungry hyena. Let them explain themselves.

  “We want to know why a ben’ik like you got to enter the sacred circle,” demands the boy with a black dorek tied around his head. He looks down his nose at me. “You’re nothing special.”

  The way he spits out ben’ik makes my skin crawl. I wander so much in Tamar without fear because of my mother’s reputation. No one would dare cross the Ka-Priestess. In the tribal lands, I should know better. I’m an outsider and people like me, ben’iks, are even less liked for our lack of magic. It can’t help that they’re angry Grandmother broke the rules for me.

  My blood boils. I should’ve been more careful. I turn to go as two more boys appear out of the shadows. “Don’t make a mistake you’ll regret,” I say, lacing my words with equal venom. “My grandmother is chieftain and won’t take kindly to any trouble.” I immediately realize my mistake. People shrink upon hearing my mother’s name at home, but here my empty threat only makes things worse. The Litho boys cut me with glares that set my heart racing.

  One of them waves his hand and the air shifts to encase the whole clearing in a shimmering bubble. Everything outside it seems to disappear. I suspect that the bubble will keep anyone from seeing or hearing what’s happening inside, too. “We know your grandmother and your owahyat mother too,” the boy says, his face twisted in disgust.

  “We know you as well, Arrah,” the dorek boy snickers. “It’s rare to meet a ben’ik with a lineage so rich in magic. But then, the sins of the mother often fall on the daughter.”

  My eyes land on a staff propped against a rack as sweat glides down my back. It may be useless against them, but at least it’s something. My chances would be better if I had a hint of magic, even a smidgeon. Enough to keep me safe. I clench my hands into fists, thinking of when Heka’s magic touched me last night. It drew my ka from my body, then left me like a fleeting wind. I can almost understand why some charlatans risk so much to lure magic to them.

  I keep all four boys in my line of sight. “If you call me ben’ik one more time . . .”

  “We’re going to teach you a lesson,” the dorek boy says. “Ben’ik.”

  I run because they have magic and I’m outnumbered. Before I get far, I crash into the edge of the bubble and fall down. They’ve made sure I can’t leave.

  My pulse drums in my ears as I climb to my feet and lunge for the staff. It feels balanced in my hands, offering me the faintest feeling of security. If I had a weapon of choice, this would be it. Any Aatiri worth a grain of sand knows their way around a staff, Oshhe would say.

  The Litho boys laugh.

  Let them.

  I shift my stance. “Touch me and I will break every bone in your miserable bodies.”

  “The ben’ik can fight?” The third boy cracks his knuckles. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it when you eat dirt, you swine,” I say.

  My words sound braver than I feel, but I mean them. Even if they have magic, I won’t go down without a fight.

  “She’s bluffing,” says the bubble boy.

  Magic crackles in the air like a summer thunderstorm and I brace myself, the staff ready. They close in around me. The third boy pounds his fist in his other hand, and the ground trembles. I take several steps back, keeping the barrier at my rear.

  “Well, what do we have here?” someone asks from behind me.

  Sukar appears out of thin air. The three tattoos across his forehead sparkle like stars in the night. He runs his hand over his shaven head, looking as amused as ever. The Litho boys take one look at his slight physique and roll their eyes. Their mistake.

  Essnai steps into the clearing behind him—statuesque and poised, a head taller than both of us. Purple powder covers her forehead down to her long lashes. The red beneath her midnight eyes and the gold dusted on her nose stand out against her umber skin. Her lips are two different shades of pink. She’s changed her hair back to black. Even the Litho boys are too caught up in her beauty to notice her deceptively relaxed grip on her staff.

  I sigh in relief. My friends never fail to make an entrance.

  Essnai clucks her tongue at me. “Always wandering off and getting into trouble.”

  Heat creeps up my neck, but I answer her accusation with a shrug.

  “Someone forgot to invite us to this little party,” Sukar says.

  “Your protection tattoos won’t save you, Zu.” The dorek boy spits on the ground.

  Sukar pulls a pair of sickles from scabbards across his chest. “They broke through your ward easily enough, but I have these just in case.”

  Even his curved blades have magic symbols engraved in them—made by his uncle, the Zu seer in the Almighty Temple.

  “What’re two more ben’iks to beat up?” the third Litho boy asks with a laugh.

  Essnai says nothing as she lifts her staff into the same position as mine.

  “You should leave before you get hurt,” I warn the Litho swine.

  “You’re bold for the daughter of an owahyat,” says the bubble boy.

  Before the words clear his lips, I hurl a rock, aimed for his face. It’s clear from the malice in his voice exactly what he thinks when he calls my mother a prostitute. He doesn’t know her and if anyone can talk crap about Arti, it’s me, not him. But the boy knocks the rock from its path with a gust of wind.

  “Nice try, ben’ik,” he says.

  I spit in the dirt.

  So they’re talented in the elements. Dirty, arrogant swine. They think because we don’t have magic, we’re defenseless. Another mistake.

  “Are we going to talk all night or fight?” Sukar yawns. “I vote fight.”

  Even magic isn’t foolproof. I know that better than most from watching my father in his shop. The only way out is through the boy holding the bubble intact. He hasn’t moved a muscle si
nce he conjured it, as if he needs to stand still to keep it steady. That’s my opening. I don’t second-guess as I charge at him. My fingers tighten against the staff, but the ground shifts and I land hard on my face. The fourth Litho boy’s outstretched arm trembles as the dirt under me groans and settles again.

  Sukar and Essnai spring into action. My friends bat away the rocks two of the Litho boys hurtle at us with their magic, neither lifting a finger. I catch a rock and send it flying. It hits the boy who knocked me down square in the chest. He lets out a little squeak and I can’t hide my satisfaction. Serves him right.

  I’m on my feet again, my eyes narrowed on the bubble boy. He calls for help, but Sukar and Essnai already have his friends battered and bruised on their knees. The bubble falters before I even reach the boy, and he runs away. I don’t bother going after him. He got the point. Once the bubble’s gone, the sounds of the night’s celebrations rush back into the clearing. The rest of the Litho boys run away too.

  My hands shake as I clutch the staff. They weren’t even that powerful. Yet, if not for Sukar and Essnai’s help, things could’ve ended much worse. How could Heka bless scum like that with magic and skip me? At the first beats of the djembe drums, dread slips between my ribs like a sharp blade. It’s time to face the thing I’ve been dreading all day.

  My tests with Grandmother—the great Aatiri chieftain.

  Three

  Grandmother’s dome pavilion looms over the smaller, squat tents in the Aatiri camp. Its patchwork of bright cloth billows in the gentle breeze in the valley. My legs ache as I weave through the throng of people preparing for the second night of the blood moon. I wish I could lose myself in them and find a place to hide from my tests. I don’t want to fail again.

  I suck in a deep breath as I finally reach the tent. My cousin Nenii pins back the flap and ducks inside. She and Semma clear away teacups and wash down the long, low table. Magic strung in glass beads, draped along the walls, lights the room. I’m always amazed by Grandmother’s endless ways to bend magic to her will.

  I press two fingers to my forehead and dip my head in a slight bow. “Blessed night, cousins,” I say in Aatiri. The greeting twists on my tongue, but the girls don’t make fun of my accent. These cousins have always been kind and accepting, even if I’m an outsider. Still, it’s hard not to wonder if it’s only because of Grandmother. Plenty of people are polite to me in Tamar out of respect for my mother.

  They chime back, “You honor us, granddaughter of our great chieftain.”

  “Join me, Little Priestess,” Grandmother calls from another room.

  Her voice brims with authority, but it’s not unkind.

  Nenii and Semma give me encouraging smiles as they fluff pillows.

  Before I slip into Grandmother’s private quarters, Nenii whispers, “Come by our tent later so we can help you braid your hair.” My cheeks warm, but I’m glad for the offer. It’s long overdue and would take me forever. I shake off my doubts about my cousins. Not everyone cares that I don’t have magic.

  I pull back the curtain that separates the salon from Grandmother’s private quarters. She sits cross-legged on a mat in the middle of the floor. She isn’t wearing her bone charms, only a yellow kaftan with colored beads across her shoulders. Light flickers from the jars of burning oil in the corners and leaves the rest of the room in shadows. Her quarters smell of cloves, cinnamon, and cardamom—the spices of her favorite tea. “Grandmother,” I say, bowing to her. “Honored Chieftain of Tribe Aatiri, blessed night.”

  “Welcome, granddaughter.” She smiles. “Sit.”

  Grandmother clutches her hands on her lap, and when I squat on the reed floor facing her, she flips her wrists and lets the bones fly. They land between us in the same position they did all those years ago when she first tried to teach me magic. As they do every year. Her whispers fill the room as she channels the ancestors’ spirits through the bones. Several voices come across at once. My belly twinges at the clipped, guttural words that are neither Aatiri nor Tamaran. The language doesn’t sound like that of any nation near the Kingdom or the tribal lands. In the corner, one of the candles flickers and goes out.

  Grandmother has never told me what the message means. Whenever I ask, she answers, “The time is not yet right for me to say.”

  Still the question burns on my lips. What does it mean? I almost beg for an answer but bite my tongue. It isn’t fair that she’s keeping it from me. Why would she? Unless it’s something bad, or if it means that I’ll never come into my magic. The blank expression on her face gives nothing away.

  “People are upset about me entering the sacred circle,” I start, then my words catch in my throat. She had to know they would be. Grandmother stares at me with one eyebrow arched in anticipation. She bears the angular face, prominent cheeks, and proud nose common among the Aatiri. Her look, as always, is one of slight amusement—as if she’s privy to a secret that no one else knows.

  The phantom of Heka’s magic still lingers on my skin. It was the first time that magic has ever come to me. It didn’t just brush by on its way to answer someone else’s call. It sparked in my soul like a vital organ I hadn’t known was missing. I want to tell Grandmother this, but I’m afraid of what it means that the magic didn’t stay.

  She risked angering the other edam and the entirety of the tribal people—for what reason? I bite my lip and drop my gaze to my hands. “Why did you do it?”

  “People should mind their own business,” Grandmother says, her voice sharp. When I meet her eyes again, she smiles. “As for your question, let me try to explain.” She waves her hand over the bones and they arrange themselves into a neat pile. “Our magic presents in different ways. It’s no small thing that you can see magic and your mind resists it. I’ve long wondered if, perhaps, your magic is simply asleep. I brought you into the sacred circle in an attempt to awaken it.”

  A flush of heat creeps up my neck. “I guess there’s only one way to see if it worked.”

  “Take the bones,” Grandmother says. “Tell me what you see.”

  So begin my tests.

  The bones feel smooth and polished, and slippery against my hands. They don’t hum with magic or speak to me. It’s no different from Imebyé all those years ago, or any blood moon since then. I clutch the bones with my eyes closed, my pulse pounding in my ears. I will them to tell me their secrets. Please let this work.

  When I can’t stand waiting any longer, I throw them.

  The bones scatter in a random pattern that means nothing to me. Grandmother studies them, her eyes lingering on each bone, then lets out a soft sigh. They don’t mean anything to her either.

  Why do I keep failing at this? What am I doing wrong?

  She allows me no time to lament, only snaps her fingers. Nenii enters the room carrying a mortar and pestle, a knife, and piles of herbs. Once she’s gone, Grandmother says, “Make a blood medicine of your choice.”

  That I can do. I’ve learned how to make dozens while helping my father in his shop. But without magic, all blood medicine does is give a person a stomachache. Or a hangover.

  I crush herbs, adding a bit at a time to get the right consistency. The medicine calls for white nightshade smoothed into a paste and a dozen other herbs. It isn’t long before I’m lost in the work, my mind at peace for the first time at the festival. I’ve always found making blood medicine calming, even if challenging. Juices stain my fingers green and a pungent odor stings my nose by the time it’s done.

  To seal the spell, I need to add my blood, but I hesitate. I don’t want to disappoint Grandmother or myself again. After this, we’ll know if last night had been worth it, if my true magic was only asleep. I nick the tip of my finger, add blood, and whisper the incantation in one breath.

  It’s done.

  If my measurements were off by the smallest amount, the work would be for nothing. Without magic it is for nothing. I always go through the motions because of Grandmother, but after Heka, I hope a spark of magi
c will finally show. This year has to be different. It’s now or never.

  Grandmother’s silver locs are loose and reach her waist. Even without her adornments, she still looks every bit the chieftain that she is. She raises an eyebrow. “You intend to turn your hair blue?”

  “It’s very popular in Tamar.” I smile down at the bowl. If it works, I’ll make Essnai all the hair color she could dream of. I’ll find a thousand frivolous, fun things to do with magic. I’ll be useful in my father’s shop, and one day open a magic shop of my own.

  “Indeed.” Grandmother gestures at the bowl, a grin dancing on her lips. “After you.”

  We both drink and nothing happens. Aside from the atrocious taste. Another failure.

  On to the next.

  We spend hours going through the tests.

  I fail to read minds.

  I fail to manipulate water.

  I fail to see into the future.

  I fail to call upon the ancestors.

  I fail to heal the cuts on my fingers.

  I fail to detect what ails a sick woman.

  We work late into the night, people coming and going for various tests. My head throbs and my stomach twists in knots as the hour of ösana approaches. Magic is at its most potent in that space of time between night and sunrise. Grandmother never loses patience and encourages me to keep trying. I wish my mother would be that way instead of voicing her constant disapproval.

  “Are there any easier tests?” I ask the moment we are alone again.

  Grandmother throws the bones again. “Those were the easier tests, Little Priestess.”

  I wince. “Please don’t call me that. It only makes things worse.”

  She frowns but doesn’t look up. Something in the bones has her full attention. She points to two bones that lie crossed together. This is new. They’ve never landed like that before.

  The sacred circle did change something.

  My heart races as I lean forward in anticipation. Could this finally be it?

  Grandmother’s finger shakes as she speaks in two voices. One is a low hiss that comes from her throat, and the other sounds like glass shattering. Both are so terrible that they send chills down my spine. Her head snaps up. “Who are you?”